Unmade Men
by ashestoashesanddusttodust
Summary: A series of Winterhawk drabbles.
1. Unmade

****Unmade Men  
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**A Word**: Prompt for love and hate for Winterhawk.

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Clint loves the taste of blood when they kiss. A violent clash of teeth and lips that sucks all the air right out of their lungs. Sucks the fire of their anger right up and cranks the heat even higher until the only thing that can quench it is bare skin.

He loves that almost as much as he loves the way Bucky rises to his bait. Snapping back with words and fists every time Clint pushes further than he should. He loves the fact that Bucky will bait him right back. Jabbing every single button Clint has until they're breaking walls and leaving droplets of blood on the ground everywhere.

He loves the way Bucky goes silent on missions. His words becoming shorter and gruffer when the mask goes on and he seems like an entirely different person even though he's really not. Despite what the look in Steve's eyes might say, Winter Soldier is still Bucky, and Clint loves the fact that he can see what the rest of the team so very clearly misses.

He loves that he can let go then during those missions. Can go as quiet as he needs to be without Tony needling him for witty banter. Can simply do what needs to be done as efficiently as possible and not worry about his actions being questioned. That he can jump down from his vantage point and turn a long distance sniping mission into an up close and personal fight if he feels like it. He loves that Winter Soldier will just roll with it and have his back no matter what.

Clint hates the quiet times though. The times between missions and fights and fucks when he's sacked out on the couch zoning on television, and doesn't even realize Bucky's there until something breaks his zen. Gets his attention away from the TV long enough to notice Bucky's shaggy hair brushing against his arm while the man himself sleeps on the floor. Back pressed up against the couch and head angled towards Clint.

He hates the way Bucky sneaks up on him sometimes. Not with any intent of harm or he'd be thrown across the room, but with an intent that gets Clint pulled in by a warm, fleshy arm and a chaste kiss pressed to the back of his neck. The way a few playful words are whispered in his ear. No trace of any sort of bite at all in the endearments Bucky calls him.

He hates the look that gets in Bucky's eyes sometimes when they're both sweaty and panting, or even when they're not doing anything at all but sitting across the room from each other. It's a soft look. Something tender and gentle that isn't anything that Clint signed up for when they started this thing between them.

He hates, above all else, the way his own breath goes short on seeing that look. The way he aches to reach out for it and pull it in close. To nurture it and make it stay. To make Bucky _stay_.

Clint hates it all, but he loves it too much to even think of giving it up.

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	2. 1 Sentence

****Dead Men Tell No Tales  
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**A Word**: Request for Clint getting hurt and Bucky having his back.

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"Ah, fuck me," Clint grunts as a solid boot presses threateningly into his windpipe. Not enough to do any actual damage, just enough to show an intent like it wasn't already fucking obvious when Clint got shot in the fucking gut.

Clint goes limp and plays possum. Groaning less out of a need to act than he'd like, but the lucky punk who got a sucker's shot off isn't paying that much attention to him anyway. He's too busy scanning the dark floor of the warehouse. "I've got your partner! You want him alive, you're going to come out right now! Hands in the air, and if I see you even so much as twitch wrong I'll plug a hole in him!"

No he won't. The stupid fucker has his gun trained on the empty space that Clint _knows_ is empty. He won't even have the chance to push down on Clint's neck before Bucky gets the drop on him. It's a stupid move, and Clint just knows he's going to get so much shit over being taken down by this punk.

"Do you hear me!?" The punk screams, his voice going uncomfortably high as he waves his gun at nothing. "I'll fucking do it! I'll-"

A fine mist of blood puffs out in the air as the punk rockets forward like he was punched from behind. Clint coughs as the boot scrapes uncomfortably across his throat, but forces himself to roll away so that he's not under the corpse when it falls. "Fuck me."

"Later," Bucky drawls out as he drops from the catwalks that the punk hadn't even bothered looking at. His gun is still out and his eyes darting around the warehouse even as he moves to crouch over Clint. "When you're not bleeding like a stuck pig."

"Fuck you," Clint breathes as he attacks the pouches in the small of Bucky's back. Pulling out a compressed gauze pad and ripping it open with his teeth. Pressing it down onto the messily bleeding hole and gritting his teeth against the pain as he hopes like hell it didn't go all the way through. There's only the one bandage between the two of them, and Clint's not looking forward to the disinfecting process he'll have to go through if they use something that's not sterilized to stem the bleeding. "Fuck you up the ass, Barnes. And _that's_ going to happen later tonight. In the fucking hospital after I've been stitched up."

"Don't think the docs'll like that," Bucky's left hand steals down to press over Clint's hands. The cold metal pressing hard enough to make Clint see stars, but that's perfectly alright with Clint. There's a countdown going on over the comms and he knows he's only minutes away from the sweet release of a morphine shot. "You might pop all those stitches you're going to need."

"Guess you'll just have to do all the work then," Clint grunts out as they both hear the clatter of running feet. It coincides with the codes being given over the comms and Bucky moves his gun just as the first medic rounds the corner.

"Whatever you say, dear," Bucky responds as he moves to let the man get at Clint. His voice sweetly innocent even as his hard eyes stare down the portion of the building that hasn't been secured yet. He stays close until the medic has another gauze pad out and urges them both to move their hands. "It's a date."

Bucky leans down and presses a hard kiss to Clint's lips as he feels the pinch of a needle going in his arm. The rush of the drugs is immediate and cooling, but he still hears Bucky's last words. "I'll grab the lube and condoms after I'm done taking care of these dead men."

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	3. Dead Men Tell No Tales

****One Sentence  
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**A Word**: Request for Ca few Winterhawk 1 sentence things.

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kaitouhime1412 asked: A coffin for two?

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"Well, damn," Bucky huffs out as every effort to move only sends more waves of pain through him, Clint makes an amused noise against him —Clint hasn't said anything since his first attempt tire a wound wide and bathe Bucky in blood— and weakly pats his arm when Bucky wraps his flesh arm around him, "Shittiest place to die."

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superbuckybearears asked: WINTERHAWKPROMPT: "Shut up bucky, its just swing dancing, old man - how hard can it be?" Bucky proves him wrong.

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"Fuck you," Clint hisses after the cast has been set and he's been released from the hospital, Bucky's 'concerned boyfriend' act guaranteeing the asshole the night —if not the whole week— on the couch alone.

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	4. Be Careful It's My Heart

**Be Careful It's My Heart**

**A Word**: A prompt made it's way around Tumble; imagine your OTP knowing they're going to die and dancing together slowly, one of them whispering lyrics into the other's ear. I like the idea too much. Song is the title of the chapter and comes from the musical Holiday Inn.

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"Dance with me," Clint says and Bucky barks out a harsh laugh as the man doesn't wait for an answer. Just pulls Bucky in close and starts to spin them around madly.

Bucky stumbles for the first few steps until he's caught his balance. The loss of his prosthetic arm throwing his balance off more than he'd ever thought it possible. He balks a little and slows them down so that they're not going to get sick with dizziness. Wrapping his right arm around Clint and guiding him into a proper waltz. "Where the hell'd you learn to dance anyway, Barton? A carousel?"

"Don't knock the carnie education, Barnes," Clint gives in easily and cedes lead to Bucky without a fight. Moving with enough grace that it's obvious the man knows how to dance properly. "We know things."

"Sure you do," Bucky allows grandly as they move over the cracked asphalt of the abandoned street. Their boots crunching on charred debris and other things it's best not to think too closely on.

Clint's got both arms wrapped around him and is grinning into his face. All devil may care attitude and that crazy acceptance that shit just happens to him and there's nothing he can do to stop it. The man's got not one regret left and he's doing what he wants in his last moments. Dancing with Bucky in the streets while the rest of the world burns around them.

The heat is getting intense as Bucky decides to follow Clint's lead in this one thing. Pulling the man in so close that they can't really move without tripping over each other's feet. Until they're mostly just swaying together and breathing each others air.

Bucky tilts his head in for a light kiss and sings the words from a musical he saw so long ago. Only part of the words sticking with him, "Sweetheart of mine, I've sent you a valentine. Sweetheart of mine, it's more than a valentine.  
Be careful, it's my heart."

"Sap," Clint laughs against his lips. His own stretching out in a grin Bucky feels as he closes his eyes against the rising heat that presses in like a giant fist. The buildings start to catch fire around them and the ground starts sinking under their feet.

"Says the man who wants to dance," Bucky huffs back and that's how they die. Laughing and clinging to each other. Swaying to the music of flames before falling down.

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	5. Turn

**Turn  
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**A Word**: Request for them arguing about something small while sparing.

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"No," Clint grunts as he's flipped over and thrown. He tucks his head in and manages to turn it into a roll. Coming up on his feet fast enough to block the follow up punch. "I took him out last night while your ass was passed the fuck out on the couch."

"So? That was your turn," Bucky tries kneeing Clint in the gut but aborts the move when Clint throws an elbow at his neck. "I took him out at lunch when you were too busy getting your ass handed to you in Mario Cart."

"Bullshit!" Clint dives. Going for the one knife Bucky hasn't pulled yet and nearly gets a metal fist to the face before he can dodge. "I did take him out," Clint snaps his mouth shut to avoid biting through his tongue as Bucky gets a boot against his chest and pushes hard. "Just because you're stupid enough to fall for the pitiful act doesn't mean I skipped my turn."

"Now that is a load of bull," Bucky fakes left before going left for real. He's leading with his left arm as Clint lashes out with the knife. Taking the hits on the metal and trying to disarm him. "He couldn't even wait till we were off the lobby stairs to take a huge crap. Lunch hour, Clint, you know how many assholes I had to look at while Lucky was taking a dump?"

Clint laughs because that image is hilarious and the knife gets ripped easily out of his hands before Bucky tackles him to the mats. "It's not funny you asshole!"

"Yes it is!" Clint gets out past the laughter still shaking him. Bucky snorts but his lips curl up into a grin as he settles in over Clint. Heavy but not really pinning him down. "How many of them did you tell to fuck off?"

"All of them," and Clint can see it now. Lucky squatting while Bucky stands there in sweats and a ratty hoodie, hair tied back sloppily as he glares down men and women in smart business suits. Clint is going to owe Tony so much to make a copy of that off the security reels. "But seriously, you should've taken the damn dog out, Clint. You're the one who picked him up off the streets and swore you'd take care of him."

"Dog's fine," Clint says when his laughter dies down. He wraps his arms around Bucky and shifts until he's comfortable. "Jarvis monitors him just in case, and can get him outside with one of the lab bots in no time flat. You worry too much."

"You gonna trust your dog to Dummy?" Bucky asks with an arched brow.

"I'm going to trust Dummy to my dog," Clint grins at the frustrated look that slides across Bucky's face. "Seriously, Bucky, you worry too much. Lucky's a smart boy, he can take care of himself. Ain't that right, Lucky?"

There's a growled bark before Lucky jumps onto the mats and they both get a face full of dog breath and tongue.

"Dammit, Lucky!" Bucky tries to growl but Clint can hear the laughter there. So can Lucky, because the dog leaves Clint alone and focuses entirely on the other man.

Bucky rolls off taking the dog with him and Clint sits up to watch them with a grin. His body aching from bruises, but it's easily ignored as Bucky starts laughing for real.

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	6. Best Woman

**Best Woman**

**A Word**: Ibid.

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"Will I have to wear a tuxedo?" Natasha asks after Clint's done stammering out the thing he's been trying to spit out all morning. She kindly removes her foot from his throat so he can answer properly and without threat this time.

"No? Yes? Maybe?" Clint climbs back up onto his couch and rubs his throat a little before settling back into a sprawl. Much more comfortable looking now that he's not trying to find words to say. "I dunno, Nat. Do you _want_ to wear a tux?"

"Maybe," Natasha fold herself back up into the portion of the couch not being occupied. A warm feeling lights up in her chest. She's pleased and awed as ever by Clint's regard for her, his trust something that she feels privileged to have. She'll never admit it out loud, but the feeling is one she treasures. "Don't you have any idea what you want to do already?"

"Uh, yeah," Clint scratches the back of his head and looks a little embarrassed. "I kinda just wanted to fly down to Vegas. Get Elvis or an alien to do the ceremony, you know?"

Which is a very Clint thing to do. Plus or minus a lethal amount of alcohol. "And we're not doing this because?"

"Bucky wants an actual ceremony," Clint admits with a grimace and sheepish shrug. He's leaning a little ways back from her like he's expecting her to lash out again at him. "Like a real, solemn kind of thing. Aisle, flower girls, candle lighting, smashing plates."

"Plates?" Natasha ask with a raised eyebrow.

"Hell if I know, Nat," Clint's shrug is a study of carelessness, but his tiny grin is pleased. "I'm just going to do what I'm told and say 'I do' when asked. I don't really care about anything else."

Which is an absolute lie. Clint does care. He's just still too wrapped up in the fact that someone wants to make a huge -and probably very public- deal out of marrying _him_ to figure that out for himself. Which is most likely why James is insisting on it being so big and grandiose. It's his way of saying, without having to actually say it, how much he means this act. How very much Clint truly means to him.

It's sickeningly sweet to think about so Natasha doesn't think about it. Just focuses on the role Clint has asked her to take in this ceremony. There's a history of responsibility about being Best Man, and Natasha knows Clint doesn't know any of it. Knows that he just asked her because he literally cannot think of any other person being a better Best Man than her.

"Best Woman," Natasha sounds out and it doesn't sound too terribly ridiculous. Clint grins and Natasha firms her resolve. Clint might not know all the traditions and expectations for the role, but she's not going to let that stop her from living up to each and every single one of them. This might not be Clint's first marriage, but it's the first one that he's talked to her about it _before_ it actually happened. That means something a whole lot more than Clint thinks. "Alright, You can tell Stark to stop hounding you for the position now. He can be the Flower Child."

Clint snickers, no doubt bringing up images of Stark dressed up as a hippy as he pouts his way down the aisle. Throwing bruised clumps of flower petals into the faces of people he doesn't like.

It's an entertaining position and she resolves to talk to James about it, because none of them actually know anyone with children. They might as well go for the next best thing. She has very little doubt that the solemn ceremony James has been describing to Clint is nothing more than a prod to get the man to contribute something he actually wants. One doomed to failure until Clint gets over his high of being wanted. Which won't happen until around their eight or ten year anniversary.

"I think I'll wear a tux," Natasha muses. Mentally ordering a list of things she knows Clint will want but won't ever ask for. Why they decided to plan this while she was away she will never understand. James should know better by now that Clint won't eve risk jeopardizing anything this important with something he sees as being so unimportant as his own wants. "There's a few good lines out this year."

"Great!" Clint grins at her as she gets to her feet and then reaches out to brush his knuckles down her arm. "Thanks, Nat."

He means it for more than her acceptance, and she smiles down at him. Pressing back against his knuckles briefly before leaving. She has an entire list of things to ensure happen in the next few months, and time is not waiting for any of them.

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	7. Here There Be Dragons

**Here There Be Dragons  
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**A Word**: There's some talk going on at Tumblr about a possible WinterHawk week. Anyone possibly interested in that? Prompted: _I do want to play. You don't suppose there's anything we could do about it?_

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"Well," Clint says after a thoughtful pause, "short of launching anti-aircraft up at them I don't think we're going to get to play in this round."

Which is a damn shame because dragons! Who _doesn't_ want to say they fought a dragon? Sure, it was a mechanical dragon, but a dragon is a dragon. Clint's not going to be all that picky.

"It's not even a real dragon," Bucky eventually grouches because hell yes he's going to be the one to be that picky. Only after they all realize the damn thing is going to stay airborne. Where only Thor and Iron Man can have a shot at it.

And Hulk. Clint watches as the green guy launches himself impossibly high and grabs a metal tail. He dangles and the dragon stills, but stays stubbornly in the air.

"Sucks to be you!" Tony's voice cackles over the comm line. He's having a blast and isn't caring that everyone else is bored now. "Why don't you all go home and get dinner warmed up for us? I think the three of us are more than enough to handle this _dragon_."

Nat snorts loud and clear but Clint can see her walking away. Disappointment in every line of her body as Cap stubbornly stays his ground below. Clint gives the man five minutes before Nat's dragging him away from the field.

"Hey," Clint checks the distance and regretfully sees that it's still too far for even him before dropping down to sit next to Bucky on the roof's edge. Bucky lets him get an arm around him with only a single raised eyebrow in question. "Want to make out obnoxiously loud for Stark?"

"No!" Tony cuts in. Sharp and pained even as Thor laughs loudly. Clint can see Cap bringing a hand up to face out of the corner of his eye, but he keeps his gaze locked on Bucky. "Hell no! You two are worse than rabbits, and I get enough of that at home. I swear I'll bring this dragon over right now if you don't start that."

"Well?" Clint asks with a grin. "You heard the man. What do you want to do?"

Bucky's grin is wide and filled with vicious, vicious intent as he twists. Getting a hand behind Clint's head and pulling him close as he purrs. "Suddenly, I'm not so interested in dragons anymore."

Clint laughs into the kiss and it makes the noise loud and obvious as Bucky pulls him into the messiest kiss ever.

"Fuck you both!" Tony shouts and Clint can hear it even without the comms. "I'm bringing the dragon over anyway."

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End file.
